


a hole inside the hole you're in

by possessedradios



Series: Treppenwitz [1]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Also this almost qualifies as a character study of sorts now. I think. Maybe. I guess., And it's 1995 but there's smartphones bc Goddard Futuristics, Brief mention of homophobia, Idk man. I really don't know., Implied abuse, M/M, and the author burying their head in their hands a lot, as well as the most fucked up (and maybe slightly angsty) blow job ever, featuring the "Creepy Cutter Speech" equivalent of Dirty Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possessedradios/pseuds/possessedradios
Summary: Once you end up spying on other students, breaking into someone's hotel room and going through highly classified looking yet openly accessible documents on said person's laptop, you might just as well admit to yourself that your friend was right and you really do have a) an "ego as big as fucking Texas" and b) "serious issues, Warren". From there on, offering sex for a job is, put into perspective, really not that absurd.(officially labeled the "Cutter casually walks into Kepler's high school to recruit him by ignoring him" AU.)





	a hole inside the hole you're in

**Author's Note:**

> I came out here to write something completely trashy and kinda-silly and honestly I’m having so many emotions about young Kepler right now. (It's still trash and I still blame @lesbianjackrackham for this. [Entirely.](http://lesbianjackrackham.tumblr.com/post/169978117907/sarah1281-lesbianjackrackham-thought-42))
> 
> (Title is taken from "Spilt Needles" by The Shins.)

“I just don’t get it,” Warren says, glaring across half of the cafeteria at one of the tables.

“M-hmm.”

“I checked out some of the people he was talking to – one of them is in drama club. _Drama. Club._ ”

“I am in drama club.”

“ _Look at you_ , you’re proving my point.”

“You fucking love Shakespeare, shut up.”

“That’s not … the point … Jamie.”

She groans and puts her fork down, wiping her mouth with a whole stash of napkins before leaning back in her chair. “Fine. Tell me – please, enlighten me – what exactly _is_ the point?”

Warren realizes that she’s being sarcastic even though she keeps her voice neutral; he knows her well enough … but he looks at her, ready to explain it anyway. At least she’s _listening_.

“The point is,” he says slowly, “that those incompetent theater nerds are called out of class to talk to someone who’s here as a recruiter, and I … am not.”

She stares at him as if she expects that he follows this up with something else. When he doesn’t, she rolls her eyes. “Seriously? That’s it? Why’d you even care? Aren’t you under contract with military already, anyway?”

“Not officially enlisted. Haven’t signed anything yet,” he says while staring over to the table _this guy_ is sitting at, engrossed in a conversation with some third-rate student; the kind of person that wouldn’t even dare _talk_ to Warren. So what does he want with losers like that?

“You– Wha– _Why?_ You spent the last few _weeks_ running around talking to all those fancy guys in fancy uniforms from different fancy branches!”

“Exactly,” Warren says, locking eyes with her and flashing her a smile. “I like the way they try to outdo one another.” And immediately his attention goes back to the other table.

“Oh, for God’s– Warren, you’ve got some serious issues. Let the incompetent theater losers have something, for once. Who knows what this guy even _wants_. All we know is that he’s from Goddard Futuristics. For all we know, he could be looking for someone who’s ready to help advancing the whole computer and mobile phone stuff. Or the whole deep space travel thing. Not your strong suit, you must confess. You have everything! You said right from the start that you wanted to do military. So go sign one of these stupid contracts. They won’t wait forever, y’know?”

“Course they will,” he says, ignoring everything else. “They’d be stupid not to.” And then, almost as an afterthought: “Apparently, Kerr asked some really weird questions.”

“... Who the hell is Kerr?”

“Keep up, Jamie. The recruiter. Listened to two of the guys he talked to – questions about space, or tech. Or both.”

“It’s a little concerning that I’m not even surprised that you would spy on other students. Really makes me question your life choices, because you sure won’t do it yourself,” she says, and then adds, before he can react to that, “So, Mister Recruiter has asked those guys about stuff you know next to nothing about. And you’re _still_ interested?”

“I don’t know whether I am. He’d have to _talk_ to me first.”

Jamie sighs again. “Seriously, Warren. I meant it: You’ve got issues. And an ego as big as fucking Texas.”

He finally tears his eyes away from the other table to look at her again. “Texas, you say? Have I … ever told you–”

“No. Nope, nope, nope. Let me stop you right there. I _am_ a theater nerd, I _am_ into drama and fiction, but if I’m gonna listen to a long-winded, overly dramatic, unrealistic-as-all-fuck story, I at least want it to be one I can perform on stage afterwards. So, please. No.”

“I was … on holidays with my parents, you see. Spain. Andalusia, Costa del Sol.”

Jamie throws her used napkins at him. “God, Kepler, shut up! I’m as interested in your story as Kerr is in talking to you.”

This shuts him up. Warren glares at her, eyes narrowed. Seconds pass, she returns the look, unimpressed. Warren slowly leans back.

“No … offense taken,” he says, as if Jamie had voiced any concern about that, “I understand that hearing a story about a nice … family vacation would be a little too much after your father died last year.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Anyone ever tell you that your attempts at manipulation are really, really blunt? Also, that you’re an asshole?”

“The latter I’ve heard before. Multiple times, from a variety of people. I don’t care. Besides, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you, I was just being rude. It’s a difference.”

“Fuck you, Warren Kepler, and go look for your morals while you still can.” She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, running a hand through hair that’s hardly even there. Not quite used to her new look, Warren thinks, and then just looks at her. It suits her. Shifts the focus on her eyes, very brown, very attentive.

Sometimes he wonders whether he’s attracted to her, because he can’t really think of another reason why he keeps hanging out with her. Theater nerd, skipping classes left and right because she can’t be bothered, because she’ll score good marks anyway, no matter whether she attends the lessons or not – smart, then, at least. He likes that, he thinks. Can appreciate that, if nothing else. Dark sense of humor most of the time, amusing, entertaining. And not interested in guys, of course, that was pretty much the first thing she had told him. Shame. Also: dead father, car accident, tragic stuff. He doesn’t know why he said what he said, but his other words were true – he doesn’t care. He briefly considers the possibility that Jamie might be right – that he really might have _issues_. If he does, he doesn’t care about that, either.

She’s talking, he realizes. “–and, about the recruiter, it’s–”

Warren stops listening again when a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Kerr is getting up and, as it seems, ready to leave. Warren looks at him for a few moments, notes the suit that looks custom-tailored and as if it’s worth at least a dozen of the students in here; notes his perfect posture – not as stiff as all the military guys, different, elegant–

He grabs his bag and gets up. “Talk later.”

Jamie startles, stares at him, confused. “Wha–” While he’s already walking away, she turns her head, and then she groans, dropping her head into her hands. “Oh, Warren, really? Now that just makes you look desperate!” she calls after him.

He doesn’t listen – doesn’t care, really – and heads Kerr off before he can leave the cafeteria. “Mister Kerr,” he says, “pleasure talking to you. I am–”

“Standing in my way.”

“… What? I mean – excuse me?”

Kerr smiles at him, shiny white teeth, cheerful expression. Still– Something about it, about _him_ is putting Warren off.

“I said,” Kerr says, voice light and friendly, kind almost, “you’re standing in my way. You’ll excuse my rudeness, it’s just that I’m _really_ busy. Lots and lots to do, kid!” He winks at Warren and ushers him out of his way, a firm hand on his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

_... Kid?_

Warren stares after him, confused at first until the feeling is slowly being replaced by anger. Who does he think he _is_ – how _dare_ he–

_Kid!?_

He slowly turns his head, and of course Jamie was watching. She flashes him a grin and a thumbs up. Warren turns around with a jerk and walks out of the cafeteria. He’s almost certain that he can hear her laughing.

* * *

An hour later, he’s standing in Miss Blanche’s office. The principal’s secretary, he thinks, might be helpful here.

“Vivienne,” he says. “What a lovely dress you’re wearing.”

“What do you want this time?” she asks, deadpan. “And you’re supposed to be in class. Don’t think I won’t call your dad.”

He rolls his eyes. The dress is hideous, he thinks and has half a mind to voice the thought, but forces a smile instead. He _is_ supposed to be in class, but has decided to skip it in favor of following Kerr around – without him noticing, of course. No one treats Warren Kepler like this. This guy has obviously done some research beforehand, has chosen the students he wants to talk to – and he just _doesn’t understand_. The people he’s taken out of class are stupid, _useless_ – each and every one of them.

“See, I’m curious, and you always know about whatever’s going on in this school – it’s actually impressive, when I think about it, because there’s something new every day, isn’t it, and you always seem to be up to date.” Deliberate words, voiced even more deliberately. It doesn’t sound like praise at all, it’s an almost casual statement, but this, Warren knows, works.

Blanche looks at him, and her eyes light up. “Oh, you know. Of course I hear a lot, with all the students walking in and out to talk to Misses Hale.”

_God, you’re easy_ , Warren thinks.

“Oh, I still think it’s impressive,” Warren says.

She sighs and finally turns fully away from her computer, leaning forward. “Alright,” she says. “What are you curious about?”

“The … recruiter.”

“Charles Kerr. What about him?”

“How long … will he be here? I hear he came over from Cape Canaveral?”

“Apparently,” she shrugs and doesn’t seem very interested. “That’s where Goddard Futuristics is headquartered, at least. A long way to travel just to talk to a few studen–” She trails off as she suddenly seems to remember he’s a student, too. “Anyway, I didn’t even know he was coming; Misses Hale never said anything about a recruiter for today. But it’s always like that; has been like that at every school I ever worked at – the principals think just because _they_ know, the secretary knows as well. As if we were mindreaders. It’s frustrating, really.”

“I can imagine,” Warren says, slowly growing impatient. “So will he fly back today?”

“Hell, how should I kno– Oh. Oh, no, wait, he mentioned something about staying at the Four Seasons, so I guess he’ll be here for the night at least. But I don’t think he’ll come back here tomorrow.” She furrows her brows. “Why do you want to know? Has he talked to you? If you need to speak to him, I heard he’s going to meet with Misses Hale as soon as school is over for today. Maybe you could–”

_Checkpot._

“Thank you, Vivienne. You’re always a delight to talk to.” Warren turns around to leave, ignoring Blanche’s now definitely confused, maybe even slightly concerned voice– “Hey, what are you– Warren, come back here immedia–”

Warren cuts her off by closing the door behind himself. He considers his options for a few moments and then leaves the schoolhouse. 

* * *

Standing in front of Kerr’s hotel room, he decides to knock at the door just to be safe. Blanche said he won’t leave until school ends, but … one can never be cautious enough. When there’s no answer after a few seconds, Warren quickly casts a glance down the hallway before pulling out his father’s credit card, pushing it into the crack between the door and the frame. 

He wonders, briefly, what Jamie would say to that and quickly comes to the conclusion that she’d just roll her eyes and go back to ‘You’ve got issues, Warren’. The thought makes him almost smile – it’s ridiculous, really, how she just can’t see what this is really about. By now, this is a matter of principle. Kerr didn’t just not actively ask to talk to him – he didn’t even listen when Warren tried to initiate. It’s simply not acceptable. Especially not considering the students he chose to talk to instead – mediocre at best, stupid and pathetic at worst. Names he’s never heard before, shy idiots who wouldn’t know how to properly do a job even if they had a step-by-step description for it. How is he supposed to just let that go?

And, besides – finding out in which room Kerr’s staying was ridiculously easy. If no one’s here to stop him, why shouldn’t he take a look at the room, figure out what he actually wants? Another mystery, that – none of the students he observed or talked to were able to tell him what exactly the work Kerr is looking for employees for actually _is_. He _will_ figure it out, though. 

He slowly tilts the card toward the doorknob until it slides in a little further– he bends it the other way, pushes, puts just a little pressure on the door, wiggles the card– can feel it slip under the angled end of the latch, and– there. The door clicks opens, and he quickly slips into the room.

The room smells like any higher-class hotel room smells – like freshly washed bed sheets right out of the dryer and a little like the ocean; refreshing, like wind mixing with the feeling of the sun on naked skin at a place where you can practically feel the salt on it. …Or maybe he’s just imagining that, maybe that’s his personal interpretation; associations linked to the memories of experiences that help him through bad nights, Warren thinks, thinks: Spain. Andalusia, Costa del Sol, and he _almost_ didn’t lie to Jamie, it’s just that the holidays were spent with his mother alone, his father far away, and he had ended up in the hospital just in time to get treatment for the anaphylactic shock and he, of course, has never eaten shellfish since, but it was– nice, it was really … really … _peaceful_ , and– 

He shakes off the thoughts with a sudden feeling of almost-horror, this is bullshit, he’s here and now, and he has things to take care off.

The whole room is remarkably unremarkable, he doesn’t find anything of importance in both the actual room nor the bathroom. But there’s still … the laptop, sitting on the desk, lid closed. Warren takes a look at his phone to check the time – still a little more than one and a half hours until classes are over, plus the meeting between Kerr and Hale Blanche mentioned … It should be well enough time. He sits down on the chair and opens the laptop, tries to ignore the weird feeling in his stomach; like a weight pulling him down, and there’s really no need for this, no reason to feel like this. Maybe, he decides, he is a little nervous after all – he did break into a stranger’s hotel room, and he’s about to–

“What an idiot,” Warren murmurs as the laptop wakes up to the open browser, Goddard Futuristic’s website on display. What kind of professional leaves their laptop without password protection? But he won’t complain, of course – Jamie was right, to a degree; he knows how to handle his phone, he knows how to operate a computer, sure, but everything beyond that is, well, beyond him. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to hack a laptop.

He’s not interested in Goddard’s website – he has checked it during class, phone under the table, as soon as word got around that this is the company the recruiter is representing – so he moves on, tries to look into the browser history – nothing –, then clicks through the different folders on the desktop, finds reports and documents full of information that’s interesting but ultimately useless to him, talking about Goddard Futuristic’s research in no great detail, about their involvement in countless projects covering countless science fields.

He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, if he’s being honest. He just wants to figure out what the hell this guy wants, what kind of job he’s searching employees for – and why he doesn’t seem to think Warren would be a good pick. The more time he spends in here, in front of a stranger’s laptop, the more absurd it starts to sound even to himself.

That’s when he suddenly, after almost listlessly clicking through a few documents, is staring at something that catches his interest again. He skims the pages – _Strategic Intelligence unit 5_ and _Both Cpt Littlewood and Mjr Nguyen repeatedly and urgently requested replacement for [NAME REDACTED]_ and _Special Operations_ – and this, Warren decides, most definitely sounds like something he’d be interested in – and fit for. He thinks about all the kids Kerr actually talked to and almost laughs. What the _hell_ does he want with loser who fail their gym classes?

Another document, and–

_Oh._

Mission report, the page states, and then– Special Operations, it seems, includes undercover work and corporate espionage and a dead team member. Well.

He’s got his phone in his hand, opened to the camera app, to take a picture of the pages – for what purpose he’s not sure; maybe, he thinks, he’ll show Jamie, just to prove that he was right, that Kerr’s recruiting process was fucking ridiculous, and then he can maybe let it go and just sign one of the damn military contracts, or maybe he’ll just wait for Kerr, theoretically he definitely has blackmail material now–

But that’s not right, not really, he’s not interested in going back and signing one of the contracts, and he doesn’t want to use this information against Kerr, he thinks, because now he can’t get out of his head just how predictable military actually is; how potentially boring–

A low beeping and the tell-tale sound of a door being pushed open.

_Fuck. Fuck!_

This can’t be right, Kerr shouldn’t already be back– this is– He slams the laptop shut, still opened to the damn document, and gets up, quickly stepping away from the desk.

He’s fucked. He’s so fucked. He’ll call the school, and they’ll call his parents, or, no, worse, he might call the police and they’ll take down a report, and who will believe an 18 year old when he starts talking about how the number one company when it comes to tech and aeronautics and aerospace research is involved in illegal activities, so yeah, no one will believe him and instead this incident will be written down as– this is– what _is_ this? Breaking and entering? Either way, it will end up on his record, and _fuck_ , the military will– His _parents_ will– 

Kerr steps into the room. He hums thoughtfully while he closes the door behind him. “Well, well. What _am_ I gonna do with you?” He doesn’t look at Warren. He doesn’t even sound surprised, and this, out of everything, is what fuels his panic the most. (He had entertained the thought of just waiting here for him, confront him, but – not like this. He doesn’t like being surprised, he feels out of control, and he doesn’t like it.)

_Click._

Warren stares at him. Kerr has locked the door.

“Well?” he asks while he finally turns to look at him. He’s smiling. It looks genuine, Warren decides after a second, and he takes half a step back, not entirely sure why.

“Not in a talking mood, I see!” Kerr sounds exactly like he sounded back in the cafeteria, cheery and something else Warren can’t place.

Focus, he thinks, the hell’s he gonna do? Worst case scenario? He calls the police. Nothing can _happen_ , not really. Can’t kill me in here. Someone would notice.

He takes a deep breath and the panic slowly gives way to something else, something that vaguely feels like defiance. He takes a few steps, watching Kerr intently, as if he had a gun pointed at him – and it’s weird, he thinks, absently, that this is the picture that comes to his mind. He’s closer to the door now, closer to Kerr.

“Strange, don’t you think? You were so eager to talk to me, just a few hours ago.” The words sound casual.

What’s really strange, Warren thinks, is how he just now starts worrying about the implications – about what Goddard Futuristics obviously does – only now, that Kerr is standing in the same room as him. Reading the report, he didn’t care at all; so what if they’re involved with illegal activities, so what, he didn’t care at all, felt nothing but something akin to … fascination. _You’ve got serious issues, Warren,_ Jamie says inside his head.

Kerr suddenly turns his head, looks over at his laptop. Still smiling. “Find anything interesting?” Still casually and as if he’d read his mind–

“Quite, yes. Don’t get it, really, the kids you took out of class.” He’s calm, suddenly, completely calm again. “They’re useless. For the job you’ve got open, anyway.” He talks without thinking and his body seems to operate without any active input; he smiles at Kerr and crosses his arms. “Look, what I saw on there was really fucking shady, and I really, _really_ don’t care, but you should have spoken to other students.” He’s not sure he’s really connected to his own body. It doesn’t feel like it. He feels a little numb and it’s, on a distant, detached level, annoying; he thought he’s gotten over that somehow. Although it’s helpful now, he supposes, because acting on autopilot might work better than actually thinking about what he’s gotten himself into.

“Mm. Someone else, you say. Someone like you?”

“For instance, yeah.” Warren lifts his chin, stares at Kerr, he holds eye contact even as seven seconds tick by, ten, thirteen.

“You never answered my question,” Kerr says suddenly. “What should I do with you, hm? What would your parents say, if they knew you broke into someone’s hotel room?” 

Warren is almost violently yanked back into full consciousness; his mind connects with his body. _There we go. Good question._ He decidedly doesn’t want to think about it. He tries to react somehow, tries to think of something his autopilot self might have said – ‘I’ve done more scandalous things. In hotel rooms, funnily enough,’ perhaps, something like that, but what comes out of his mouth is something else entirely. 

“Are you going to kill me now?” His voice, at least, still sounds calm. He is calm, he thinks. 

Kerr looks at him for a moment and then, to Warren’s surprise, laughs. “Warren, please! I’d never!” 

Warren’s confusion over this reaction gives way to more confusion – Kerr knows who he is. He knows his name. 

“... Then what do you want?” 

“I think the better question would be – what do _you_ want?”

“I want to work for you,” he says and realizes halfway through stating it that it’s true – has been true all the time since he’s seen the documents, and he notes, detached and uninterested and cold, that he doesn’t mind the illegal nature of it. All that’s important to him, right now, is the fact that the reports sounded interesting. 

“Mmm. I’m not entirely sure you’re aware what exactly this job would … entail.”

“I read the damn files.” 

“I figured as much,” Kerr says, smiling, and for the first time since closing the door, moves. He comes closer, and this time, Warren doesn’t step back. He lets Kerr approach him, and then he’s _close_ and Kerr– He lifts his hand and places it against Warren’s cheek, brushes his thumb over his chin. “Still,” he says. “You don’t know–” 

“I don’t care,” Warren interrupts him, talking entirely without thinking again, and not at all bothered by Kerr’s hand against his skin, “You wanna– what? Tell me it’s dangerous? I gathered as much. I don’t give a shit. Don’t assume I’m _scared_ or _not good enough_. You don’t know me.”

“Oh, but I do. I do know you,” Kerr says, voice low, almost a murmur. His voice, Warren realizes, has an almost soothing effect, hypnotizing. And that smile is still stuck on Kerr’s face. He drops his hand from Warren’s face and tilts his head. When he speaks again, it sounds once again casual, playful, a stark contrast to his previous tone. No less fascinating. 

“Warren James Kepler, born on the 7th of May 1977. Got into quite a lot of trouble during the first one and a half years of high school, picked fights with older students for no good reason at all, got your act together after your teachers had had enough and called your parents into school. Excellent student now, of course, top of the class in every subject. No social network to speak of. Not that you seem to want or need that, though. Stole one of your father’s guns, have never fired it, probably never will, but you keep it with you at all times – can’t leave it in your room for daddy to find, hm? Speaking of parents – mother’s a waitress, father with some military history – until they threw him out, that is.”

Warren stares at him.

“Mmhm. Touchy subject, is it?”

He manages to catch himself, shoves away the confusion that’s back once more – why and how in the world did Kerr find out all these things; why did he bother when he chooses to just ignore him, then– or has he considered him only to decide that he’s not fit for it? But even then, that’s … too much information for him to have, some of these things he can’t _possibly_ know– Either way – irrelevant, he supposes, for now, stores it away somewhere in the back of his head. 

He shrugs, smiles. “Touchy? For my father, yes – not me.”

Kerr’s smile widens a fraction. “Of course, of course. But – that’s not what I meant. The point is, Warren, that I know you. Guys like you – always the same, you know? Intelligent. Determined. And, mm. No real opinion on moral issues– which, I have to say, I do appreciate. People like you … are practically … made to be guided, commanded – even though you do prefer if you’re the one giving the orders. Power is nice, yes?”

Warren ignores his question, just narrows his eyes at him. “If you think so, then why didn’t you seek me out for an interview?”

“Ah, well. Maybe I don’t think you’d fit into the team?” 

“But goddamn _theater nerds_ would?!” 

“No need to get all angry, Warren. Do not yell at me. It’s rude.”

But Warren _is_ angry, it’s a comfortable contrast to the panic he felt before and, he thinks, also justified – this man must have spied on him, which is fucked up, and then he had the audacity to ignore him, and now he’s standing in front of him, a whole bunch of illegal stuff on his laptop, and–

“What the hell do I have to do so I can work for you?”

Kerr’s smile grows a little wider. There’s something disquieting about it now. “Why are you so eager to work for me – for Strategic Intelligence? So willing to break the military’s heart? I hear they’ve taken quite a liking to you.”

Warren hesitates and really thinks about it for a moment. Kerr is right – Jamie was right as well – he’s got everything. He wanted this. Has talked about how he’ll join military for months. Had told his father, triumphantly, that everyone was just waiting for him to sign the contract. And yet … _No real opinion on moral issues_ , Kerr had said, and Warren supposes that’s true. Jamie knows as well, he thinks, it’s probably obvious if he opens up to someone just a little. It’s not about morality, it’s never really about morality. Morality as a pre-defined, universal concept is a useless construct, constricting, obstructing. It’s not about morality. It’s about being better, it’s about doing – not the right thing, just … _doing_. And, after all he’s seen, that’s what Goddard Futuristics is about. It’s not what military’s about.

“Departments like Strategic Intelligence are needed in order to achieve what you want,” Warren says, lifting his head to look at Kerr again. “And a certain kind of people is needed to fill positions in departments like that.”

Kerr inclines his head, raises an eyebrow. “Is that so. Then what _do_ we want, in your opinion? What’s Goddard Futuristics about?”

“Progress.”

He seems pleased with this answer. There’s something in his eyes that lets him think it was the right one, the correct one, and Kerr confirms this after another second, voice quiet. “Very good. Simply put, but in the end, that’s it.”

“So, I’ll ask again – what do I have to do? How can I convince you that I’m the person you want?”

“No imagination, hm?”

Warren notes the almost playful air to the words, mulls over his options briefly (the first thing he thinks of is “You mentioned the gun I have, do you want me to shoot someone”, but even he himself deems this too fucked up after a moment of consideration) and eventually, when he thinks about Kerr’s hand against his cheek, decides that he doesn’t give a fuck about dignity. “If you’re hinting at sex, I don’t care. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“Sex,” Kerr repeats, sounding amused. “That’s how far you’re willing to go for a job? Really?”

Warren shrugs. “I don’t care. I told you I want to work for you. I told you I’m the person you want. If your condition for hiring me is that I suck you off or … whatever you’re into, I won’t let that stop me.”

“Charming,” Kerr says, still amused, and Warren rolls his eyes.

“So?”

“Oh, Warren. You’re _endearing_.” Despite these words, he’s back to his former tone now. Everything he says is friendly, but matter-of-factly. “See, I’m definitely not someone who offers a job for sex. That’s not the way I do business. And I certainly wouldn’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you don’t want to do. Howev–”

Warren scoffs at that. “I told you I don’t care. I don’t feel pressured. You’re not exactly ugly.”

“Do not interrupt me, Warren.” 

No subtlety this time, the change in his intonation is sudden and almost jarring. He somehow manages to maintain the cheeriness, but the words send a chill down his spine anyway – they are ice cold. Warren stares at him and possibly for the first time properly links Kerr to what he read in the files – he might have asked him whether he’ll kill him now, sure, but it only just now occurs to him, somehow, that Kerr might truly be dangerous.

Warren swallows, nods slowly and some part of him very helpfully and unprompted provides, ‘I’m pretty sure this shouldn’t turn you on’.

“Good boy.” Kerr smiles at him. “As I was saying… _However_ , I won’t stop you, if you think that _this_ will convince me.”

Warren looks at him for a few seconds. He’s not exactly happy with the insinuation that whatever he does now might _not_ convince Kerr, because while he doesn’t care about dignity, he’d still be able to think of more pleasant things to spend his time with. But in the end, this is his best shot, really. He shrugs and exhales slowly. “Fine,” he says. “Hope you’re alright with the ‘sucking you off’ option I mentioned.” He glances at Kerr – he looks amused, mumbles “If that’s what you want” – and Warren hates that these words somehow manage to make him question what he said; whether it was stupid; whether he interpreted something wrong. He chooses to ignore it and simply drops to his knees.

“You were incorrect, by the way,” Warren says while opening Kerr’s pants, hooking his fingers into the waistband to unceremoniously pull them down together with his briefs. “About the gun. I did fire it. Training shots count.” He looks up at Kerr, wrapping one of his hands around his dick and giving it a hard stroke. 

Kerr returns the look, still smiling. “Is that so. Hmm. Say, Warren, I am curious – did you steal the gun with the intention of actually using it? Training shots,” those last two words sound dismissive, “aside?”

Warren averts his eyes, immediately aware that he’s not sure and also that he’d prefer if he could say ‘yes’ without having to think about it. The thought is confusing, somehow, and instead of answering, he leans forward, pressing a few kisses to the inside of Kerr’s thigh, twisting his hand at the next stroke. 

“Not sure what I thought,” he says, lips lightly pressed against Kerr’s skin. “But I _could_ , if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Your potential for ruthlessness is the least thing I’m concerned about,” Kerr replies, sounding amused again. He slowly places one hand against the back of Warren’s head, carding his fingers through his hair. “But then, tell me, why haven’t you done it?”

He wonders the same, for a moment, but in the end, the answer is fairly obvious. His mom would be sad. And a little scandalized, probably, if he somehow got caught. But there’s things Kerr doesn’t need to know. So he looks up, smiling, and simply says “Maybe I will. Why would you care?” before leaning forward again, licking along Kerr’s dick before taking the tip in his mouth, flattening his tongue against it.

Kerr slowly buries his hand in Warren’s hair properly, pushing his head down almost gently. “You’re the one who wanted an interview, Warren. I don’t normally do those,” he says. “But I’m ready to indulge you. You say _you could_ so confidently, but we both know you have a specific target in mind when you say that. Would you state the same if you’d be required to shoot someone you’ve never met before? Or – maybe someone you have – someone you know well?”

Warren considers the question while he starts moving his head, reducing Kerr’s hand in his hair to something akin to a supportive weight instead of the commanding force behind the movements. His mind immediately drifts to Jamie. He imagines the heavy-reassuring weight of a gun or maybe one of his father's hunting rifles in his hands. He thinks he could do it. He slowly pulls back. Kerr lets him. He licks his lips and looks up at him. “I don’t really care,” he says. “Everyone’s expendable. Replaceable. I feel like the same would go for interpersonal relationships.” 

It’s easy, after all, the act – just a twitch of the finger and then it’s done, and all that's left is dealing with how horrible of a human being you are, which should be simple enough as well, if you've got enough _issues_. And anyway, Warren doesn't necessarily think of himself as a human being, most of the time he feels too detached from everyone around him. Neither does his father, if he interpreted his shouting right, back when some idiot first told him that they'd seen Warren make out with another guy. The fact that they agree on this seems almost poetic.

“Interesting take,” Kerr says, voice indecipherable. 

“Why would you ask me that, anyway? Maybe I’m lying. Maybe I’m just telling you what you want to hear,” Warren says after a moment before taking Kerr’s dick in his mouth again, going right back to his former pace, tongue lingering at the top of the head, teasing the spot just below– 

“Oh, Warren!” Kerr laughs. “You’re so cute, aren’t you. You don’t get it. You don’t see the … big picture. Even if you had lied – which, I am good enough to know that you didn’t – it would still–” His breath hitches for just a split second. Warren thrives on this moment. Kerr tugs at his hair, and Warren takes this as a cue to look up (but not to stop). He’s met by a small smile and locks eyes with Kerr.

“It would still say a lot about you. About the way your mind works – you work,” Kerr says, voice a low murmur. “And this helps, Warren.” He pushes Warren’s head back down, slowly but unrelenting, fingers still tightly fisted in his hair. “It’s useful,” he adds after another moment, and how in the world does he sound so goddamn composed, “to analyze – to know how to best use the tools you possess.”

It takes Warren a few moments to get what he means – that he’s referring to–

And then he surprises himself, because he groans at these words, this realization, and closes his eyes.

_–the tools you possess–_

Well, _shit_.

Kerr exhales, a breathy laugh. “Oh, I think I like you, Warren. You’re into that? Alright, then.” He stops pushing down, runs his hand through Warren’s hair now instead. The gentleness clashes with his next words.

“If you work for me, Warren, I will shape you into whatever I want you to be.”

Warren shudders, and okay, this definitely shouldn’t be so fucking hot. He hesitates for a split second, then fumbles at his own pants to get them open, to touch himself, because _fuck it_. He wonders, just for a moment, whether it would have been less fucked up to just go ahead and offer to shoot someone, then decides that he doesn’t care. He looks up at Kerr, who’s looking right back, observing him, smiling.

“You will follow my lead, my every word, blindly, unquestioning,” he continues, and Warren adverts his eyes, tries to concentrate on Kerr’s dick instead of his words again, taking it all the way down, swallowing around him. It earns him a low moan.

Kerr grabs a fistful of Warren’s hair again, starts pushing and pulling again, and Warren lets him, goes on like this for a while, listens to Kerr’s next words when he finally, after Warren doesn’t know how long, speaks again– “You will do anything for me. You will risk your life for me, for _progress_ , for the big picture. You will do it willingly, leaving behind whatever you are now, to become what I need you to be.” 

Warren moans around him, half-choked, Kerr’s words swimming in his head, blending together, and he tries to get himself back together, gives Kerr just the hint of teeth, sucks, hard, and Kerr’s voice is just a fraction less steady as he speaks again. “In return, I will give you the world that you want, Warren. That you need. You will … never … be bored again, that I can assure you.”

A slight squeeze of his shoulder and Kerr’s hand tightening in his hair is all the warning he gets before Kerr comes with a breathy exhale.

Warren pulls a face, but he swallows and draws back a second later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still touching himself with the other. It feels awkward now, but stopping, he thinks, would be even weirder. He can feel that Kerr is looking at him, observing him.

“Oh, and Warren,” he says, voice a low murmur again, hand still buried in his hair, “we’ll find out how true your words are, because you _will_ kill for me.”

Warren squeezes his eyes shut and leans forward with a jerk, forehead pressed against Kerr’s thigh. He imagines, again, the weight of a gun in his hand, empty bottles replaced by another target, imagines– _“Fuck,”_ he gasps and then comes all over his hand, and then he stays like that for a few seconds, on his knees, breathing heavily, and now he really feels fucked up. He’s not sure he minds, but he feels fucked up.

“Now that was beautiful,” Kerr says with a low chuckle, and Warren, in a moment of unemotional, complete clarity, thinks that he’ll love working for him, and that he’ll end up hating the man himself. He tries to wipe the hand clean on the carpet and gives up quickly, uses the inside of his shirt instead. His legs are just a tiny bit shaky as he stands, but he’s sure Kerr notices.

“Well?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. “Convincing enough?”

“Mmm. Insightful,” Kerr says, smiling again and clothes already fixed, looking just as calm and composed as before. It’s not fair, Warren thinks.

Kerr reaches for his briefcase and walks over to the desk, shooting him a glance as he passes by. Warren slowly follows, not sure what exactly he feels, save from vague exhaustion and some sort of weird feeling of triumph, completely misplaced. He takes the pen Kerr offers him, looks down at the contract sitting right next to the laptop now, and–

He freezes. 

The first few lines state the contracting parties, and printed right next to _Goddard Futuristics_ , there’s– 

_Warren James Kepler_

His name is right there, the contract had been issued to it all the time. 

“Anything the matter, Warren?”

_That fucking asshole._

“Nothing at all, _sir_ ,” Warren says through gritted teeth and puts the pen down on the paper. He briefly considers all his possibilities with the military, considers the content of the laptop – _fucked up_ , considers Kerr’s words – _fucked up, really_ … and then he signs it.

“Excellent. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

* * *

Jamie squints at him through the cigarette smoke that’s slowly but surely starting to fill her room despite the fact that they’ve opened the window.

“Seriously? First Mister Jefferson, now this?”

Warren shrugs and takes another drag of his cigarette. “Jefferson was attractive.”

“Jefferson was our history teacher! And he had a goatee. Jesus Christ.” She sounds almost desperate, as if there is something very fundamental he fails to grasp. He shrugs again.

“He was a temporary substitute and only four years older than me. Also, did you even listen? I have a job.”

“Still! That’s– Yesterday, with Kerr – did you enjoy it?”

He wonders why the hell he even told her about it. He should have known that this would end in some kind of discussion he really doesn’t want to have. Still, her words make him think about it– about the dismissive way Kerr handled his suggestion first – _“If you’re hinting at sex–”_ –, thinks about his words during it, about– He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Is it important?”

“Jesus. Warren.” Jamie coughs a little. “We should quit this bullshit,” she says, waving her cigarette at him.

“Yeah. It’s disgusting.” He takes another drag, exhales slowly. “Is it important?” he asks again, because she didn’t answer.

“Fuck, Warren. Course it’s important. Why would you even have sex if– I mean, which criteria–” She sighs. “Have you ever actually slept with someone because you were attracted to them, as opposed to, you know, using it as a tool to get whatever you wanted?”

He has to think about it for a moment, blinks up at her ceiling. Jamie’s very close, lying right next to him on her bed. He’s not sure he can give a completely honest answer. The lines between “attraction” and “convenience” are blurry at best and he doesn’t get how others can distinguish between these things or completely dismiss one of them completely.

“Doesn’t matter – again, you could at least acknowledge I have a job now.”

“Yeah. Congrats. Military will be furious,” she says flatly.

“Never. Signed. Anything. Change of mind, reflected on it, you see, this kind of thing happens.” He’s actually looking kind of forward, telling them.

“Furious, Warren.” She’s silent for a moment. “Does that mean you’ll move? To Florida?”

He turns his head to look at her. “Heh. Why? Would you miss me?”

“Y’know, the worst thing is, I think I would.” She keeps staring at the ceiling, face unreadable.

“Guess I will. Probably,” he says. Kerr has told him he’ll make contact with him again; to let him know about the details in due time.

“Away from everyone. Me. Your parents. Your– Ever think about how sad it is that you’ve got exactly one friend?”

“No, never.”

She sighs, rubs at her face with one hand. “We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Warren smiles a little, thinks about the nature of the job he signed up for, thinks about Kerr’s words, again, _you will follow my lead, my every word, blindly, unquestioningly_.

“Doubtful, really.”

“Jesus. Thanks. You really are an asshole, Warren. Won’t you miss me at all? Or at least your parents?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t know. His mother, maybe, he thinks. Probably. At least a little. In the beginning. But– _I’ll give you the world you want. The world you need. You will … never … be bored again, that I can assure you._ He takes a deep breath. “Even if I would – I don’t care.”

“Great. Great, really. You suck, Warren. No pun intended.” 

He laughs, and she joins after a moment.

“Just know that I won’t just forget you, yeah? Won’t leave your side for a second for the last few weeks. And … say, d’you have a date for prom?”

Warren snorts. “You just assume I’d attend something so highly performative?”

“Look, the fact that I know you is what lets me assume you’d never not attend something so highly performative. I take it you don’t have anyone. Me neither. Turns out Samantha is straight.”

“Absurd.”

“I know, right. Anyway, I thought we could maybe go together.”

He lifts his head and frowns at her. “Now look at that. Homosexuality _is_ curable. I mean, it flatters me that my presence had such a deep influence on your identity, but–”

“Shut up, Warren. You’re a jerk. I just thought … that it might be nice. Not going alone, and still going. Especially now, that you’ll move away and– Anyway, we can laugh about the losers and their high school dating dramas.”

“Sold. We’ll go.”

“You’re easy, Warren.” Jamie’s grinning widely and lies back down. Her cigarette has gone out, and she blindly feels for the lighter. “We should both really, really quit.”

“Yes,” he agrees, taking another drag of his cigarette, and says, again, “disgusting.”

* * *

(Weeks later, Jamie sees him off at the airport – he tells her not to come, but she’s more stubborn than his mother and shows up anyway. As his flight gets called, she hugs him. They never hugged before, and he grips the handle of his suitcase more tightly and stiffens. 

“Maybe you can find it somewhere in, uh, the cold, rotten, dark little abyss where other people have their heart, to call me. Send me a card. An email. A text. Whatever. It’d be nice,” she says quietly. 

(He never calls or writes.))

**Author's Note:**

> I’m @possessed-radios on tumblr and my podcast sideblog is @shortwaveattentionspan. Come hit me up and I’ll probably never stop talking about how much I accidentally fell in love with Jamie.
> 
> ... I'll, uh. Show myself out.


End file.
